Waiting
by Archaeologist
Summary: Why is Arthur always throwing things at Merlin? Perhaps there's a reason to his madness after all. But then there are always consequences. Pre-slash.


**Summary:** Why is Arthur always throwing things at Merlin? Perhaps there's a reason to his madness after all. But then there are always consequences.  
**Warnings:** none, mild spoilers up through 3.09, H/C  
**Disclaimer:**I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No credits have changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Not sitting here waiting for a chest to rise and fall and rise again. Not waiting, pained and guilty, for an insult or maybe a moan of displeasure because he'd given the lazy sod a few too many chores and Merlin didn't want to do them but would anyway as long as he could complain about it. Not waiting for that irritating, brilliant smile that told him that everything was all right between them even though Arthur had been a fool again and done something stupid. Not waiting for Merlin to forgive him, not because he thought Arthur was right but because that's what Merlin always did.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He shouldn't be here. Not sitting here waiting. He had things to do, princely things and he was sure his father would never let him hear the end of it if he didn't. But that didn't matter. Not now. And he'd be damned if he'd let Merlin lie here alone after what he'd done.

So Arthur sat on a wobbly stool that had seen better days, looking down at his servant – not friend, never friend because it wasn't allowed even though his heart was telling him that he was a fool and his head was too confused with it all.

He sat, sometimes in the long hours cooling Merlin's brow with water and potions, sometimes feeding him liquids drop by precious drop. Sometimes wanting to shake him so much that it was almost a physical pain. Sometimes confessing how much he missed Merlin's ceaseless chatter.

But his Merlin just lay there so still, so quiet, pale skin against rough sheets, the ragged edge of a bandage accusing Arthur of a wrong he hadn't meant to commit.

Beyond Merlin's door, he could hear Gaius pottering around. He'd told Arthur that there had been nothing more he could do, that Merlin would have to recover on his own or not. But it had been long, too long and the physician just shook his head and turned away.

At least, Gaius hadn't berated him, hadn't laid the blame for Merlin's condition at Arthur's feet. And he could have. He should have. Because it was true. He was to blame. He was.

And try as he might, he couldn't forget it, couldn't forget how it all started.

With Merlin being cheeky.

A tray of cold food in his hands, Merlin had talked back to him, made some comment about daffodils and princes. It was supposed to be foolish and fun, just them sniping at each other as they always did. Arthur really enjoyed Merlin making a fuss, not that he'd ever admit it. The idiot, his idiot, could come up with the most ridiculous names, ones that sounded both impertinent and hilarious, and he'd often found himself laughing once Merlin had left the room.

This time, Merlin had begun to turn away, bustling around, still mouthing off about something or other, and as usual, Arthur grabbed the nearest goblet, not thinking about the weight of it, and threw it at him.

It was supposed to miss. It was supposed to….

But Merlin had turned back suddenly and it didn't miss and then there'd been a flurry of guards and Gaius all but running in. Arthur had stanched the bleeding, heads were notorious for copious blood-loss, and tried to stay calm as the physician examined the wound.

All the while, Merlin just lay there, breathing but eyes closed, pale as a shroud.

He'd picked him up, had taken him back to his room and laid Merlin down on that hard narrow bed. Gaius had bustled and fussed, used gut and honey on the wound and a thousand other things that Arthur had never heard of before. There was swelling there, too, a huge lump, although luckily this time, the skull was intact. They'd thought he'd wake up quickly, head hurting, already complaining, but minutes became hours and hours bled into days.

So now he sat there in Merlin's room, waiting for his friend to wake up. Praying to all the gods that he'd wake up.

It had been a stupid mistake. He'd been throwing things at Merlin for years and the idiot should have known to duck. It should have been instinctual by this time.

Damn it. How could he think that Merlin would ever learn to be a warrior? Arthur had been training him unofficially for years. Taking him with him on patrol, ordering him to stay behind when it looked like things would get really bad and of course Merlin would follow him and it was really ridiculous not to get him up to speed on basic fighting skills, if nothing else than to avoid Merlin's constant complaints.

But his father would never have allowed it. A servant learning to fight like a knight? It just wasn't done; the monarchy would crumble or some other bloody nonsense. Arthur knew what his father would say and so he hadn't bothered to ask.

Nor did he tell Merlin what he was doing. The idiot couldn't keep a secret to save his life and if it got back to the king that Arthur was training him in things only the nobility should know, it might have been exile for his friend or worse.

So instead, he used Merlin for target practice, determined to strengthen his stamina at all costs, fought him with blunted swords so that the idiot would know how to block and parry, threw goblets and pillows and anything at hand so that Merlin would learn to duck instinctively because who knew when the next sword would be flying at him. Mocked him in front of others, insulting him, calling him a girl over and over to conceal what he was doing.

And the training, hidden though it was, had paid off. More often than not, Merlin could outfight the knights. More often than not, Arthur and Merlin were the only ones to survive an attack.

But not this time. This time Merlin hadn't ducked. And it was Arthur who must bear the guilt.

"Come on, you idiot. There are chores waiting for you and all you can do is sleep. Come on, wake up, you complete… I want you to rabbit on and smile that idiotic smile of yours and look at me as if I'm worthy of something when I'm not." He couldn't breathe for a moment, his throat closing in grief. His hand curled around Merlin's arm and he leaned down, forehead on lax fingers, whispering, "I know I've not been… should have told you how much you mean to me. All that talk of destiny and I can't see mine without you there. I can't…."

But there was no reply.

He didn't know how long he'd laid there. When he woke, groggy and stiff, the sun had gone and a single candle lit the air. Gaius must have come in and left again because there was a blanket draped across his shoulders. A hand lay on his hair, smoothing it, the caress gentle and light.

At first, he thought it was Gwen. She'd come often to see if there were any change and if anyone would dare to touch him like that, it would be her. But as he looked up, the hand slid away and his best friend, the man who annoyed and pestered and grumbled and for whom he'd lay down his life without thought, was scowling at him.

Arthur couldn't help it. He lurched forward, wanting to wrap his arms around Merlin and give him the embrace he'd never allowed himself to want before. But Merlin was looking at him, a little wary, his face scrunched up in annoyance or perhaps pain or maybe it was confusion. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

It all came crashing back down on him again. He couldn't hug Merlin. A prince was above such things, wasn't supposed to be that close to his servants. His father had reminded of it often enough, more so since Merlin had come. A prince couldn't….

So instead, he pulled back, said, "You're awake."

Merlin blinked at that, looking more confused than ever, and whispered, "Thir…sty..."

Of course he was. Arthur was a fool not to remember that. Reaching over, he poured some of the medicine Gaius had left in hopes of recovery into a glass and scooting down the bed, lifted Merlin up enough to let him drink without choking. It wasn't a hug, far from it, but it would have to do.

The smell must have put Merlin off because he made a protest deep in his throat but one firm order from Arthur, and he settled down, grimacing as he drank.

Once it was done, Merlin leaned back against him, feeling far too bony, far too fragile for Arthur's peace of mind. He'd never been plump and this… illness had turned him gaunt. "Are you hungry? Gaius said to feed you if you woke and wanted something and I know there are some soft puddings in the kitchen or a meat pie or two. I can send for some if you like. Or there is bread and honey." He knew he was babbling, worry clear in his voice but he didn't care. Merlin was awake. Merlin was alive. Merlin wasn't going to die because of him.

"Wh' happened?" He still seemed dazed, not even fighting to get away from Arthur's embrace. "Hurts."

He knew that he should go find Gaius, have him check Merlin over to see if he was all right. But he didn't want to leave him there when he'd just woken up. Instead, with one hand, he reached over to the small jar of honey, opened it with difficulty and not seeing any spoons, dipped one finger into the golden stuff and shoved it into Merlin's mouth.

Another muffled protest but Arthur ignored him. "You need food, you idiot and since Gaius didn't leave any other means of getting it into your mouth, you'll just have to deal with my fingers. Or I could pour the honey down your throat and watch you choke to death. Which kind of defeats the purpose but it's up to you."

Merlin pushed him away. "Don' need fingers. In palm, lick."

In other times, that would have been enough to send him scurrying away. He'd fought it for years: forbidden desire forever out of reach, the thought of sharp, aching kisses, white skin under his hand arching up into his touch, of Merlin moaning his name. Something he'd pushed aside again and again. But the strain of the last few days made him reckless. "My palm or yours?"

Normally, Merlin would have given him that look, of exasperation and maybe disbelief. But now he slumped down, eyes closing slowly, words slurring more and more. "Don' care. Don' want any. Sleepy."

"No, don't go to sleep, Merlin. You just woke up." Arthur jostled him, more sharply that he'd meant to do. "Merlin!"

There were flailing limbs and his head came back to smack Arthur in the chest. As Merlin moaned out his displeasure, he managed to turn a bit, glaring at him, a good complaining type of stare with the narrowing of eyes and a pointed frown. But then his hand found the bandage, his fingers busy exploring the size of it and it was a moment before Merlin said, "Wha' happened?"

Guilt beat at him but Arthur's voice was steady. "I… you didn't duck when I threw my goblet at you. You are supposed to duck, you know."

"Shouldn'. Not target."

Another frown, but he leaned back into Arthur's shoulder and he could feel Merlin drooping, as if the effort of talking was proving too much.

"I know that." He shook him again, gentler this time, worried at Merlin's reaction, not wanting to make him sicker than he already was.

"Don't know. M' not a target."

"All right, not a target." Sometimes Merlin could be so stubborn but Arthur knew he was right. Softly, a vow as solemn as any he'd ever taken, he said, "You have my word that I'll not do it again."

"Good. Your' prat but good one. My king." From where he was sitting, he could only see the corner of Merlin's smile but it was enough to ease the guilt a little. Still wrapped in Arthur's arms, Merlin sagged further down, loose-limbed, yielding, his head lolling back.

"Merlin, now's not the time to sleep."

But, of course, the idiot was muttering almost to himself, nuzzling into Arthur's warmth. "My king. My destiny. Love you. So tired. M'…."

"Merlin!"

He started to shake him again, to wake the idiot up before he slunk back into unconsciousness; one long coma had been more than enough, thank you very much and he refused to have Merlin sick again. Thankfully, with a relief he couldn't even articulate, at that moment, Gaius came bustling in.

Arthur straightened, didn't even wait for Gaius to ask what was going on. "He was awake but now he's unconscious again. I don't know what else to do."

Gaius came over, taking Merlin's hand, began to feel for his pulse, smoothed back his hair to check for fever, lifted one eyelid but Merlin was deeply asleep again and didn't even protest. "Were you able to give him the medicine I left?"

Hating that Gaius hadn't immediately reassured him, he said, "Yes, he took it all. And I got a little bit of honey in him, too, before the damn idiot pushed the rest away." Still holding Merlin close, he looked up at the physician, wanting answers. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Waking up is the first step. Did he speak?" Gaius didn't seem overly worried but Arthur had seen him in action before and his calm demeanour didn't mean anything.

"Not much but it wasn't nonsensical, well, as far as Merlin goes it wasn't." Arthur pushed again. "Gaius, I don't want you to lie to me just to shut me up as you do my father. Is he going to be all right or not?"

He wasn't about to have the old man evade his questions this time. He wanted the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

For a moment, Gaius stood there, watching Arthur. It was the first time he'd looked at him since Merlin had been injured and it felt as if the physician were judging his heart. Finally, Gaius said, "My lord, I believe he will recover in time. He may not remember the incident, though. Sometimes head trauma wipes memories and there is no telling now whether he will recall it or not."

"I've already told him the truth about what happened. I won't hide from it, Gaius, or avoid the consequences of what I've done, if that is what you are asking."

"Thank you, my lord. I know Merlin will be glad to know that." He nodded to Arthur, then said, "I think he is simply sleeping. I will take care of him now. Get some rest and I'll send word when he's receiving visitors again."

Arthur wanted to protest, that he wasn't just some bloody bystander wanting a bit of gossip but that he truly worried for him, that he cared deeply for Merlin. But he couldn't say that. Curious old eyes might see more than just words, might have already seen too much.

All he could do was slowly, carefully let Merlin slide back onto his bed and nod his thanks and pull the door shut behind him as he walked away.

Princes couldn't, after all, want more than that. Princes couldn't want servants for friends, couldn't want anything more, at least not yet.

* * *

Arthur didn't go back to Merlin's room after that. Gaius sent him regular reports and he listened with impassivity, nodding his thanks as he dismissed the old physician.

Besides, he wanted to forget what Merlin had said, that they had a destiny together, that… he loved him. It couldn't be; he knew it couldn't. Princes didn't have peasant friends and they certainly didn't love them or want to share a life together. He knew what his father would say - nobility belonged with nobility, servant with servant and that was an end to it. No matter what the heart said.

So he ignored the what-could-never-be and focused on what could. Royal responsibilities, the always and forever duties that came with being crown prince of Camelot. And with a strength he didn't know he had, he pushed the longings aside and kept on doing what was expected of him.

Of course, that all went out the window when Merlin arrived a few days later, the idiot putting laundry into his basket, tsk-tsking about the mess Arthur had left.

Looking paler than normal, the bandage still in place, Merlin seemed all right but he kept flinching whenever Arthur moved too fast and he knew it couldn't last. Obviously, Merlin had remembered after all, at least the part where Arthur had hurt him. He hoped that Merlin didn't remember the rest, that day in his room and the confession of his heart. It could make things difficult. It could make things impossible.

But he wouldn't let the other thing go. Finally, gesturing for Merlin to sit, Arthur leaned back against the table, taking a long moment to gather up his courage. "You shouldn't feel the need to come back so quickly. Take all the time you need to recover."

"It doesn't take any brains to clean up after you." He was shrugging, so typically Merlin-stubborn that it almost made Arthur smile. Almost.

"Yes, you've proved that many times over."

The sarcasm was automatic. They'd done it so often that Arthur didn't even need to think of a retort. But that wasn't what he wanted to do, wanted to say. Guilt still clawing at his throat, as gently as he could, he said, "You are my responsibility. To injure a servant like that, no matter what my father says, is…unacceptable."

It must have been the wrong thing somehow. The look Merlin was sending him would have scorched the earth and caused mountains to tumble down; the fury in his voice was palpable. "So you're not saying you're sorry you hurt _me_? Only that I'm some dumb servant that couldn't duck fast enough and it made you look bad?"

"Of course I'm sorry you got hurt. You are my servant, my responsibility and I should have…" He couldn't tell him the truth, that his heart had stopped to see Merlin lying there, bleeding, so still and white, knowing that it was all his fault. That he'd panicked when he thought he'd lost Merlin and knights didn't panic and princes certainly did not. Instead he said flatly, "I should have been more careful. It's not as if you are a knight and would know any better."

If looks could kill, Arthur would have already been ash and bone. Merlin was livid. "Good to find out I'm worth so little, then."

"Merlin!" What was the man on about? Did he have no idea of how much he meant to Arthur?

But the fury leached away and all Merlin looked was miserable. "I thought we were..." He flinched when Arthur moved closer, stared down at hands clenched so hard that bone and sinew were tight against his pale skin. "So I'm just a target for you to throw things at? A servant to bully?"

This was ridiculous. Sometimes he just didn't get Merlin. How he could think that he was anything but important to him, in a fundamental way, like air and water and the warmth of a fire on a winter's night?

"Is that what you really think? After all we've been through together? That injury must have addled your mind."

Still not looking up, Merlin said, "What else am I to think?"

Obviously, Merlin didn't think at all. Because if he did, he'd remember all the times they'd saved each other's lives; he'd remember how Arthur had pushed him back out of the way of swords and lances and monstrous beasts eager for destruction; he'd remember how he'd protected him from his father's wrath, how he took him with him on missions and patrols and sat by firesides, laughing, sharing stories and warmth and lives. Destiny was a trap at times but with the right person it could be bearable.

Merlin was his own special brand of foolishness, thinking with his heart when he should be wiser about some things. As Arthur had been until now.

But now, Arthur knew he needed to tell Merlin the truth; he only hoped that the idiot could keep at least one secret.

"I know you are capable of wisdom. You've shown it in the past." When Merlin didn't look up, only kept looking down at his hands, Arthur sighed, a long slow resigned breath. Nudging the chair with one knee, again and again until Merlin scowled up at him, Arthur said, "Remember what we did last week on the training field?"

"What? When you were hitting me with hammers?"

"Yes, and what did I say?" Narrowed eyes and a flat mouth – Merlin certainly knew how to show off his annoyance. But Arthur ignored it as, both eyebrows raised, he reminded him, "Something about you pretending to be a battle-hardened warrior? And then later when I punched you in the arm, when you protested, I said I do that with all my knights?"

"Because you are thick?"

"Merlin, I'm not the thick one here." At least Merlin was talking back to him. Better that than sullen anger. "I know you aren't capable of keeping a secret…."

"I am, too. I have lots of secrets."

Truth be told, Merlin did have one secret, a confession that still haunted Arthur in the lonely nights since all this began, but otherwise, the statement was absurd. Merlin couldn't keep a secret if he tried. But Arthur hoped his idiot would keep this one.

Still he couldn't stop rolling his eyes a bit at the ridiculousness of it. "Hard to believe as that is, here's one more secret to keep. Think about it - when I go at you with swords on the training field, why am I doing that?"

Merlin snapped back, "Because you think it's fun to beat me up?"

Idiot.

Arthur tried to sound patient but it was a near thing. "Do I do that with any of the other servants?" He leaned down, getting in Merlin's face. "Or only with you and my knights?"

"I… with me and the knights?" Merlin looked confused. Good, at least that meant he was thinking.

"And why do I do that?"

"Because you like to bully me." Merlin scowled up at him.

"Am I bullying the knights or am I training them?"

Arthur straightened, folded his arms across his chest, waiting for some kind of sense to seep into his manservant's head. Waiting for him to figure it out. Much as he mocked Merlin, the man wasn't stupid.

"Bullying them? No…," He slowed, scowl deepening into thought. Arthur could almost see the ideas bubbling in his head. Merlin really was an open book when it came to thinking things through. "You are training them to fight. So you are not… are you… training me, too?"

As Arthur nodded, Merlin stared up at him, eyes wide. He was muttering too, half to himself, wonderment and confusion and growing certainty. "But that doesn't make sense. The king would never allow it. That's only for the nobility, not servants."

"Well, it would appear that you aren't as dumb as you look." Arthur wanted to crow but instead he just leaned against the table, watching Merlin figure it out. "So how do I get away with training you and no one knowing?"

"By… insulting me and making me look like a fool?"

"Wisdom shows its face once more." Arthur threw his arms wide and then pushed off from the table and stood next to his friend, one hand on his shoulder. "And now you know why we can't speak of it. My father would not be pleased. It would be exile or worse for you if he found out."

"Oh. _Oh_. And those other things, throwing things at me, setting me up as target practice?"

Merlin was a wonder. Once he got hold of something, he wasn't one to step away from it.

"Stamina, strength and learning when to duck. All essential when fighting in combat. Not that you should be in combat but since you have a tendency to show up whether I forbid you to do so or not, I thought it best for you to learn the fundamentals. I'd hate to have to train up a new servant after all you've put me through." Arthur let Merlin go, shook his head as he stood back. "But I won't do it again. I almost killed you and I couldn't… no matter how brave you are and loyal and incredibly foolish at times, you are not a knight and I shouldn't treat you as one."

"But I… that's…oh. I didn't know."

"Now you do." Arthur nodded, relieved.

"You could have told me, you know. I do know how to keep secrets."

Arthur had to laugh at that, snorted more like at the absurdity of Merlin's assertion. "You? You with your endless babbling? You couldn't keep a secret to save your life!"

"Hey, I know a lot of secrets and I can keep them, too! I've not told anyone the truth about the quest or how you snore in your sleep or…."

Not able to let that pass, Arthur said, quite nobly if truth be told, "I do not snore, Merlin and it's obvious you are still addled in the head!"

Merlin just glared back, disbelief clear in the way his eyes rolled and the tightening of his mouth.

But Arthur had to clear one thing up first. He couldn't tell him of what Merlin had said about destiny and love when he had been half-dazed a few nights ago but he could reassure him now. "I don't like you keeping secrets from me but I understand sometimes that you have to."

There was a blaze of worry in Merlin's face, more than Arthur expected and for a moment, he wondered how many other secrets were hidden behind those blue eyes, important secrets, secrets that Arthur should know about. Disquiet settling in the back of his mind, still he said, "I trust you, Merlin, enough to know you'll tell me when the time is right."

A second of silence, pregnant with meaning. Then reaching toward him, hands clasping Arthur's own, Merlin bowed his head low, almost as if he were a vassal and Arthur his king. And when he spoke, the words were almost a sacred vow. "Arthur, I promise. When that time comes, you will know everything."

Arthur stared down at the black hair, the white bandage peaking through. He wanted to run his fingers through the softness, learn everything about this man who intrigued and frustrated and loved him but he did not. Instead he said, "Until then, there is no need to speak of it. I will wait for you."

"Thank you, Arthur, for everything." When Merlin lifted his head, looked at Arthur again, his eyes were brilliant blue, joyous, relieved, devoted.

It was almost too much.

Arthur stepped back, shaking his head to lighten the moment. "It's nothing. I do the same for all my addled-brained, idiotic servants. Oh, wait, I only have the one. Never mind then."

Merlin snorted, trying not to laugh. He looked happier than Arthur had seen him in a very long time.

"Yes, well, in the meantime, I need my armour polished. Take it back to your room and I don't want to see you back here again until morning. It makes me look bad when you are going around, head all bandaged up and looking like a scarecrow. Gaius should feed you better and you can tell him I said so. You look a right state. So off you go and try not to muck it up this time."

As he watched Merlin gather up the chainmail and the other armour, grinning like the loon he was, Arthur couldn't help but think that things would be all right after all.

And someday there would be no more secrets between them. May that day be soon.

The end.


End file.
